


Situationship

by crystalsnowflakes



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:07:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25974919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalsnowflakes/pseuds/crystalsnowflakes
Summary: situationship (noun) ⦁ sit·u·a·tion·ship | \ ˌsi-chə-ˈwā-shən-ˌship \  : a romantic relationship that’s undefined or uncommittedA look into Yuffie and Reno's relationship in the span of a decade.
Relationships: Yuffie Kisaragi/Reno
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	Situationship

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Underage

**I.**

She's brash and cheeky and sweet sixteen when they first meet. He's just murdered a man in cold blood by dropping him off the cliff while she's hanging upside down with her wrists and ankles bound. They don’t share anything other than a scowl and a leer—there’s no love lost between them.

They stumble across each other a few more times but it’s not until a month later with the threat of the meteor hanging over their heads finally gone that they share their first words.

He follows, sure that she would cause trouble only to find that she’s hidden herself in a dimly-lit room of the collapsing company building. She looks up as the door clicks shut, his cool green eyes staring into her wide damp ones and he finds himself unable to look away. In a moment of exhaustion and vulnerability, she bares her soul to him unintentionally.

With a harsh breath, he settles down next to her with his knees up—a cigarette is lit.

She closes her eyes and bows her head down, trying her hardest to regain her composure.

“Go away.” she says after a long moment of silence, scowling. But her voice sounds small, much smaller than what it usually is.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” he says bluntly through the exhaling smoke.

“You realize all this is your fault, right? Because of greed—”

“Don’t I know it, _Princess,”_ he sneers, crushing his cigarette against the carpeted floors. He’s surprised with the resignation and bitterness in his own voice. “But it’s not always that fuckin’ simple—”

But before he can finish the sentence, her fingers thread through his fiery strands and she yanks him close painfully, almost angrily. His brain warns him that she’s too young, that her mind’s not in the right place. But he captures her mouth with his anyway and when she tastes like innocence and redemption, he finds that he can’t get enough. His hand presses against the small of her back as she grasps the lapels of his suit tightly and he deepens the kiss. 

He tastes like smoke and misery but she drowns herself in him, and just for a moment, she wants the world to disappear—she's just had the weight of the world on her shoulders.

“Yuffie,” he murmurs before pulling away.

“Reno,” she begs, her voice soft, _“Please.”_

He realizes in that moment he’s powerless against her. When she closes the gap between them once more, he kisses her greedily and doesn’t bother holding back. 

He can’t get the sound of her breathing his name out of his head.

**II.**

When they see each other again, she’s eighteen and he’s just turned thirty. She’s been travelling the world looking for a cure and he’s been repaying his debt to the planet as best as he can. Under the broken roof of the church, their eyes find each other through the crowd. She throws him an impish grin and his mouth is drawn in a languid smirk.

He’s smart enough to keep his distance. She takes a step forward, but the insistent tugging of the little girl by her legs causes her to look away just briefly.

By the time she looks back up, he’s gone.

He reluctantly joins the celebrations at the bar under the orders of his boss in hopes of building relationships. According to the television reporter who managed to film him rescuing the children and fighting the remnants, he’s one of the good guys. 

It’s bullshit.

Sure, he’s been pardoned for the plate drop. But he’s not a good guy because every decision he makes is still based on whether it’s worth his time and effort—whether it counts towards repaying his debt.

He's not a hero and he will ever be one.

Soon, he makes his way to the roof and lights his cigarette. The door opens noisily and she barges onto the rooftop just like she forced her way into his head all those years ago.

“Those cancer sticks will kill you, y’know?” The girlish tint in her voice reminds him just how young she really is.

“Tch,” he grunts as he snubs out the cigarette on the handrail, his body still leaning against it. “Whaddya want, brat?” He doesn’t turn around.

She slides up next to him and her arm brushes against his. He doesn’t grasp the fact until that very moment that the floral scent that has been plaguing his memory for the last two years is of her.

“You _were_ right,” she admits softly, “Things are not always as simple they seem.”

He isn’t able to put it into words, but he’s saddened by the look of weariness in her eyes—the fact that even after she's saved the world _twice,_ the weight of it is still on her shoulders. An inexplicable sense of protectiveness swells in him, but he realizes she cannot stay innocent forever. 

The hint of mischief in her eyes, despite everything, is still unmistakable as she looks at him with a lopsided grin. For the first time, he notices how beautiful she is with her porcelain skin, hazel eyes and dark hair—all he wants to do is to lose himself in the touch, taste and scent of her.

Instead, he tilts her chin up towards him and when her breath hitches, he grazes his mouth against hers just barely.

He’s forgotten how sweet she tastes and how soft her lips are.

The distinct sound of metal shoes hitting the stairs cause them to pull away.

**III.**

She knows she’s fallen in love with him when she can’t stop thinking about the way his green eyes gazed at her all those years ago. She can’t close her eyes without imaging his smirk and the feeling of his lips on hers. What she doesn’t understand is how she managed to fall for someone she’s spoken with twice in her life.

She’s smart enough to stay away. It’s not hard when they rarely meet.

She’s nineteen when she’s fighting for her life again. Another one of their secrets from the grave. She wonders whether she’ll spend her entire lifetime cleaning up someone else’s skeletons in the closet.

Bouncing up to her boss’ office, she catches a glimpse of him flirting with the secretary. She pretends it doesn’t bother her as she throws on her hyperactive ninja mask, her mouth running off—she’s talking faster than she can think.

When he fires back a response roguishly, her heart thunders in her chest. She refuses to let him see how much he affects her, but the quirk of his lips tell her he knows exactly what he’s doing to her. She snaps back cheekily with a grin and it’s not until they get interrupted that they stop going at each other’s throats.

Maybe this is all they'll ever be.

**IV.**

She’s two days short of turning twenty-one when she shows up at his balcony door to unlock it. When she slides it open, he’s sitting in the dark, his bottle of whiskey half empty with a scrunched up chocolate packaging in front of him.

His eyebrow raises in question, his eyes travelling down her face, past her slender neck before his eyes glue themselves to the way her wet clothing clings onto her skin. The image is seared into his brain—he doesn’t try to hide his desire for her.

She takes a deep breath to gather her courage before she unties her boots, her gaze never leaving his. Before she can change her mind, she strips herself of her drenched clothes and weapons until she’s in nothing but her bra and underwear when she straddles and kisses him deeply.

He tastes like whiskey and dark chocolate. She tastes like desperation and grief and he longs for the taste of that first kiss they shared so many years ago.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmurs as he wipes away her tears, a tender graze of his lips on her forehead.

“I don’t care,” she responds almost childishly, her nimble fingers running down his chest, undoing buttons as she goes.

“I’m no good for you.” But he’s pulling her up to peel away whatever’s left on her while she pushes away his jacket and shirt.

“I know,” she whispers into his lips—he fumbles with his pants.

She doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t need to. But she wishes she had the courage to.

The sounds of their heavy breathing fill the room instead.

**V.**

The next time he sees her, it’s three months later and she’s on the front page of a paper magazine in his office. For the first time, he truly realizes they’ve always been worlds apart—it’s a miracle their worlds have ever collided together in the first place.

She’s dressed in white from head to toe with a smile on her lips—it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

She’s so fucking breathtaking that it sends a sharp pain to his chest.

He sets it on fire and tosses it in the metal trash can. When the fire alarm sounds, he stays to make sure everything burns.

His partner stares at him silently, concerned.

**VI.**

She’s twenty-three when she returns to visit the city she calls her second home, husband in tow. They visit the newly-erected company building and she muses to herself that in a way, this is where it all started. The president himself gives them a tour of the edifice, his bodyguards never far away.

He stands at the rear, hands in his pockets, but his gaze never leaves her, drinking in the rare sight of her. She can’t help it when her heart jumps to her throat everytime she catches his stares.

All she wants to do is drag him in an empty room and with the way his fists are clenched, she knows that’s all he’s thinking about too.

When the tour finally ends, the accidental brush of their elbows together makes her heartbeats flutter more than her husband has ever done.

He doesn’t show up at the bar that night. 

That evening, when she's in bed with her husband, it’s his name that’s on the tip of her tongue.

**VII.**

She’s got dark hair, dark eyes and pale ivory skin that glows under the moonlight. But her eyes don't have the same sparkle and the curl of her lips don't send his heart pounding. Her voice is too smoky and too sultry—she doesn’t say his name the same way she does. He’s rough and demanding and needs a quick release. He doesn’t hold her close or kiss her on the lips.

He leaves her exhausted body tangled up in the sheets of the dark and dingy motel room without a second glance.

She's not her.

**VIII.**

She's twenty-five when she makes one of the easiest decisions in her life.

As soon as the papers are signed, she begs a flight off the pilot to take her away. She drinks away her sorrows in the bar she practically grew up in at two in the afternoon—she doesn't even know why she's sad.

But the door soon opens loudly and he strides in, his piercing gaze landing on her instantly. Her eyes crinkle when she catches the unexpected and welcoming sight of him, her lips quirking up in the tiniest grin. He settles himself in the stool next to her and he pulls out a piece of dark chocolate from his pocket. She notices the absence of nicotine-stained fingers and the lack of smoke on his suit.

"Aren't you supposed to be working, Turkey?" she asks, peering up at him. He's missed her expressive eyes more than he realizes.

"Heard 'bout the divorce. Thought you'd be here," he responds as he wraps his arm around her shoulders impulsively. His eyes soften as they stare at the top of her head.

It's the first time they've touched in plain view of others and she relishes his caress, the meaning of his public affections not lost on her. She snuggles deep into his side, closes her eyes and the waft of his scent overwhelms her—he smells of pine, coffee and chocolate.

"I've missed you." The words escape her lips before she can hold them back, but she figures they're past the point of being coy anyways.

The barmaid stares and there are questions threatening to bubble out, but she doesn't ask. She worries too much for her friend, enough that she's willing to overlook whatever's happening in front of her.

His gentle kiss on the top of her head speaks louder than any words can.

**IX.**

His fingers trail every blemish, every mark—he’s surprised there isn't more with the way she throws herself headfirst into danger.

Her lips trace the fading tattoos on his cheekbones and the scars that mar his skin—she loves all his imperfections and flaws.

He kisses every inch of her and he can’t get enough of the taste of her skin, the touch of her lips, the scent of her sweat or the sight of her body writhing between his satin sheets. The way she moans his name brokenly and breathily over and over again in his ears sends him over the edge and he pulls her along with him.

She skips over to the balcony in nothing but his dress shirt and he can’t help but admire her lengthy legs as her narrow hips sway. He follows her, breathing in the biting night breeze.

“I have to go back,” she murmurs quietly as she vaults herself gracefully onto the ledge, her back facing him.

He wishes he still had cigarettes on him. He can’t help that he wants her to stay—with him.

“I know.”

She looks back at him over her shoulder, her long dark lashes contrasting sharply against her pale skin, her expression unreadable.

"Will you wait?”

Against his better judgement, his heart soars at her question.

He wants to ask how long, but he knows that in the end, it doesn’t really matter—he doesn’t want anyone but her. There are words he wants to say, has been wanting to say, but he swallows them instead. Turning her around, he tilts her face up to his as he presses their foreheads together and their warm breaths mingle. He studies the way her eyes gleam and underneath everything, the same hint of mischief lingers.

She tastes like solace and he tastes like home.

**X.**

He tries not to think about the girl who once crashed into his life like a trainwreck.

She’s twenty-six when they see each other again. It’s been a full decade since they met all those years ago.

He's been invited to a party at the bar and he doesn’t ask questions—he never turns down free drinks.

When he arrives, flanked by his companions, he sees a large, bright orange ‘Welcome Home’ banner hanging against the drab wall. Her boisterous voice is heard even in the loud, crowded bar. There are so many people surrounding her that it’s a miracle she manages to catch sight of him.

She ignores whatever conversation she was a part of and bounces over to him instead with her impish eyes and cheeky grin.

He’s aware they’re at the center of attention and he finds that he doesn’t care, especially with the way his heart is pounding heavily against his ribs.

“I’m back for good,” she says as she peers up at him, her hands intertwined in front of her and they tremble imperceptibly—he realizes that she feels just as nervous as he does.

One of his hands cup her cheeks as the other threads his fingers through hers. His eyes gaze at her intently, giving her one last chance.

“I’m no good for you.”

The corner of her lips curve up as she responds, “I know.”

And then he pulls her close and wraps his arm around her small frame—her body flushes against his, her head tucks beneath his chin.

He doesn't plan on letting her go again.

**Author's Note:**

> The first scene got in my head and wouldn’t leave (I know...underage argh. Sorry, sorry, sorry!!!). This was also a little different than what I usually write, but it was a nice change of pace for me. I might try this format again for another idea I have.
> 
> As usual, comments and suggestions are very much appreciated!


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